


My forest love, my forest lass

by dorina16able



Series: I can be your family [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Song of Ice and Fire References, F/M, Feast, Featherbed (song), Fluff, Post-Battle, Supportive Big Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorina16able/pseuds/dorina16able
Summary: It was oddly fitting that they were thinking about this specific song at the feast after the battle of Winterfell. For he was no lord and she was no lady; their own love story had bloomed in the forests near Riverrun and had been crafted in the metal and steel of the Winterfell forge. And they couldn’t be more content about that.





	My forest love, my forest lass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charmedfreak3b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmedfreak3b/gifts).



> Okay, so, I haven't read the books of A Song of Ice and Fire yet, but I discovered the song "My Featherbed" through Tumblr and when I read the lyrics I thought that this is the ultimate in-universe Gendrya song. So it gave me the inspiration for this fic and I strongly recommend you read the lyric in the A Song of Ice and Fire Wiki, guys, it is a beautiful song.
> 
> There's definitely gonna be one more one-shot after this one that narrates what happens afterwards (because, in part 1, Arya pretty much admitted she'd go to King's Landing to assassinate Cersei) and maybe one more one-shot about the aftermath.
> 
> For now enjoy this fic and let's hope that we'll make it through tonight's episode for the night is dark and full of terrors. 
> 
> To Charmedfreak3b, who requested a sequel to "To be each other's family", here it is, hope you'll like it :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Game of Thrones universe and characters.

_Why in the name of the Many-Faced God were they having a feast right after such a fierce battle and when the largest part of the castle was still in ruins?_

This was the main thought coursing through Arya’s mind the same night their battle against the White Walkers ended as she was seated at the dais of the Great Hall of Winterfell which was filled with way more people than she could ever remember. Too many bore injuries, they had suffered so many losses and yet Sansa and Jon had deemed it fit to throw a feast for all the survivors in order to honor their dead and celebrate their coming out of this alive.

To be honest, Arya never understood what the fuss was all about, remembering all too well how much she hated feasts as a little girl because her mother forced her to comb and braid her hair and wear dresses appropriate for little ladies like she was supposed to be—although she now smirked at how much she enjoyed throwing food at Sansa and mocking her, with Robb laughing whenever she pranked their well-mannered sister despite their mother and Septa Mordane scolding her heavily afterwards.

A bitter sigh escaped her lips as she looked around at the hall that was bustling with life, a contrast to the fact that they fought the dead army some hours prior. Her childhood memory brought back all the losses she had tried to block out all these years; her parents, Robb, his wife, which she never had the chance to meet, their unborn child, Rickon, her baby brother, and, the most recent loss in her family, her immediate younger brother, Bran…the brother who used to chase her around the courtyard when she beat him in archery, the very same brother who became so closed and mysterious after all the ordeal he went through…the brother who fell in battle, with Theon Greyjoy protecting him, with a calm expression on his face almost as if he knew about this outcome from the very beginning.

In a sudden, her siblings’ wish to host a feast didn’t seem so illogical to her, although Arya suspected that her change in mind had something to do with the fact that no one had pressured her to behave like a proper lady of Winterfell this time. Quite the contrary, she was seated at Sansa’s left, with her simply-combed hair and the leather tunic she wore during battle, with no one telling her that she looked like a wild beast who would never manage to settle down like it was expected from her status and her position.

 _Now that I am thinking about it…_ she mentally stated, an old, forgotten memory from a calmer past appearing in her mind, one of the countless memories she never actually let go, not even during her training with the Faceless Men.

There was this song the Brotherhood without Banners had sung once, she remembered, the images recreating themselves in her mind as if they occurred only yesterday and not what seemed to be a whole lifetime ago. A song about a stupid lord who promised the girl he was in love with to keep her safe and protected in his castle, only for the girl to tell him that she was no lady, for she was a _“maiden of the tree”_ , a girl wearing a gown of leaves, binding her hair with grass…not a lady love, but a _“forest lass”_.

She didn’t recall the member of the Brotherhood who had initiated this song back then, but she still recalled the implies, the sly looks thrown at her and a certain dark-haired blacksmith with whom she had been training that day, messing up her then short hair and rendering her clothes muddier and even torn at some spots. She remembered said blacksmith’s angry remarks back at the men to leave her alone…and she remembered her own angry remark that, one more stupid comment like that, and not even the Lord of Light would be able to return them from the seven hells where she would send all of them.

Protecting each other ever since then, despite her persistence that she didn’t need any protection…two outcasts back then, hunted by the rest of the world, seeking their own place. The wild Stark girl who wouldn’t be a lady and the stubborn blacksmith who turned out to be Robert Baratheon’s bastard son.

 _Now that would be a story for this song_ , Arya had to suppress herself from rolling her eyes.

In perfect timing to her thoughts about the past, the Brotherhood and this specific song, a booming laughter reaching her ears brought her thoughts back from the Riverrun woods to the Winterfell hall and she quickly spotted the source of the sound; ironically enough, it belonged to one of the members of the group she had been thinking about, namely Beric Dondarrion, who was patting Gendry on the back while the Hound clasped his shoulder, Gendry himself looking so embarrassed as if he wanted to find a hole to hide under and at the same time with a frustrated gaze as if he felt the temptation to add the other men to a kill list of his own.

Now Arya truly couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, still trying to process how this battle had brought together all sorts of different people and how tentative and unlikely friendships had been born through their common goal. It wasn’t just Gendry, the Hound and Beric—the one having being sold by the Brotherhood to the Red Woman and the other being their captive—but also the even more unlikely group of the two Lannister brothers drinking together with Ser Brienne of Tarth, Davos Seaworth, Tormund and Podrick Payne, the squire now looking much better than a few hours ago when he had been brought to the healers. At the same time, at a table near the door leading to the Great Hall, Sam Tarly, Gilly and her baby boy conversed with Edd, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and Missandei, the Dragon Queen’s advisor who was cooing with delight over the smiling toddler.

She wanted to get lost in the pleasant sight in front of her, truly, and enjoy Sansa and Jon’s presence by her side. Just like she tried to forget the upcoming battle by spending her night with someone she trusted with her entire being, now she tried to forget what was to come by embracing the warmth and friendships all around her, even though it was not possible. For Winterfell was her home, yet she was not a lady of feasts, dresses and warmths; she was a woman of the forest, of war, and the thought of Cersei and the Golden Company in King’s Landing hadn’t left her mind ever since she made it clear to Gendry, hours ago, that she would not rest until the woman who now sat on the Iron Throne was eliminated.

“Careful, little she-warrior. You are going to petrify the poor lad if you continue staring at him like that.”

“Shut up!”

At the mocking comment that still hid her older brother’s curiosity, Arya averted her eyes from Gendry and focused them back on Jon, who had switched places in order to sit next to her. At the next moment, and before Jon could reply to her, a soft growl came from the space between them and Arya chuckled when the beloved white direwolf licked her face and nuzzled his snout against the palm of her hand.

“Here you are, Ghost.” She exclaimed and picked a piece of meat to feed it to the beautiful creature before running her hands through his fur, genuinely happy to see him there with them, safe and sound and having protected the folk of Winterfell in his own way during the ambush of the White Walkers. Nymeria was roaming free in the woods, with her own pack and, while Arya knew that this was her nature and that her own wolf wouldn’t want the seclusion of her home castle, she was glad to still have another wolf around the place, the very symbol of her family. “You were saying, Jon?”

“I was saying that I would like to know the glorious story of you knowing our newest blacksmith.” He elaborated, actually laughing at the exasperated sound she left; of course he wouldn’t drop the fact that she had asked about him right after the end of the battle, when she was still too scared and too vulnerable and didn’t think about locking all her emotions away.

Arya rolled her eyes once more; Jon’s voice wasn’t criticizing, nor was he implying that the company of a blacksmith wasn’t worthy for her, but still, she couldn’t simply narrate everything and yet keep her fears and feelings at bay. Last night it was her need to forget what was going to happen and the need to feel like a normal woman that drew her to her old companion, and only today it was sheer relief that drew her in his arms and made her hug him as Gendry wept in her embrace and told her she was his family.

“Nothing much to know there. We escaped King’s Landing together after that bastard Joffrey executed father; we left with recruits of the Night’s Watch. Then we escaped Harrenhal and travelled with the Brotherhood for a while. He was sold to the Red Woman and I took the road with the Hound. End of story.”

 _And yet you insist there’s ‘nothing much to know there’?_ Jon wondered as he stared at his little sister whom he would never see as a cousin despite his true identity as a Targaryen. No matter Arya’s attempt to narrate everything as if telling someone else’s story, distant and composed, he could notice the hidden pain and suffering and he could tell that these few sharp sentences concealed a more horrifying tale; a tale of sleepless nights, of emotional breakdowns, of Arya trying to forget all these terrors during her time away from Winterfell. It was something he had detected on Gendry as well; a man of few words about his past, focused only on his goal and his work and only allowing certain few people to see through his walls.

In an unexpected way, Jon could imagine these two bonding through their time together and ever since he had met the blacksmith he could see his honest and loyal character. Not to mention that, judging from Arya’s agony as she asked about Gendry after the battle, he was definitely worth it.

Of course, despite everyone insisting that he knew nothing, right now he knew better than to pressure Arya to tell him more about everything, for he knew that he would receive silence and quite possibly a punch on the shoulder for his questioning.

“It must have been a relief for you both to see each other at Winterfell again.” He simply stated; and even these kind words gave him the impression to cause pressure on Arya and bring up nasty memories to surface, so he quickly wanted to combine them with a humorous comment as he threw a look towards the man they were currently talking about. “Although I’m not sure he’s so relieved now with the company he has.”

“How could he, with these two miserable old shits?” The young woman said and jumped on her feet right away, making her way towards the Brotherhood’s table under Jon’s amused and yet brotherly tender glance.

“My, my…who would have known?”

 

“So, lad, now that the battle is over and we don’t need weapons, will you settle down in a nice house? With a lady love perhaps?” Beric Dondarrion slammed his hand on Gendry’s shoulder in what was supposed to be a teasing gesture but that made the smith actually choke on his wine. “Or maybe a forest lass?”

His question immediately caused laughter roaring between him and the Hound, making Gendry actually sigh in frustration and even consider standing up and get as far away from  them as possible; because Beric’s comments were unbearable of their own, but his newfound alliance with Sandor Clegane made it even worse for him. It wasn’t so much the reference to the song they had once sung itself, but rather their way to interpret it and talk about it as it were nothing more than a crude joke they exchanged in taverns.

Not to mention that it irritated the living daylights out of Arya even back then, when she was younger…and this surely hadn’t changed much, Gendry suspected, considering her wish to stay in control even when the whole world was ending around them.

“Will you keep her warm and guide her with your sword?” Beric went on, continuing to use the song’s verses to mock him, but before Gendry could tell him to shut up or turn the conversation to his still-improving sword fighting skills, the voice of the woman who was constantly in his mind interfered, making everyone at the table look at her.

“ _And how she smiled and how she laughed,_  
_the maiden of the tree._  
 _She spun away and said to him,_  
 _“No featherbed for me.”_

And despite his any thoughts about the song or the jokes about it, Gendry felt a pleasant shudder running down his spine at hearing Arya Stark, the maiden of the tree herself in his eyes, speaking these particular words. Not singing, just speaking them, yet with a smirk on her face, stormy eyes on him, as if Beric and the Hound didn’t even exist for her. He understood exactly why this was the case and why she had chosen to recite these specific lyrics of the song—which he stubbornly refused to call ‘their song’ because Arya would hit him for being so emotional—when only last night a small room had closed their entire world; no featherbeds or ladylike shyness or luxurious surroundings, just pure and strong and raw emotions.

And it travelled him to a couple of days ago, when she first came to visit him after his arrival at Winterfell. How she looked away and giggled— _giggled­_ —at him calling her “m’lady” instead of pushing him away like she used to, as if it was something she had missed as well…as if it had made her feel like a normal girl again. How she told him that he didn’t know any other rich girls and how she twirled to throw one final, teasing and challenging look at him.

Years ago he considered himself unworthy to be her _friend_ and her _family_ , let alone more than that, because of the differences in their statuses.

But after everything they shared and after seeing her fighting so bravely against the dead army, Gendry could finally admit to himself what he didn’t dared to before.

It was oddly fitting that they were thinking about this specific song at the feast after the battle of Winterfell. For he was no lord and she was no lady; their own love story had bloomed in the forests near Riverrun when they were younger and had been crafted in the metal and steel of the Winterfell forge. And they couldn’t be more content about that.

And so, ignoring Beric standing up and apologizing to her for being indiscrete and the Hound wondering why they were staring like that at each other, Gendry simply locked his eyes in Arya’s and replied to her with his own verses…now enjoying the pleasant sensation, the song finally being shared between those who deserved it with no disrespectful idiots tarnishing it.

“ _She’ll wear a gown of forest leaves,_  
_and bind her hair with grass,_  
 _But I can be her forest love,_  
 _and she my forest lass.”_


End file.
